


Black Tie Affair - No.2

by somekindofseizure



Series: Black Tie Affair [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, MSR, Spies, bond, dress porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully get dressed up once again and play spies as they try to catch some elusive bad guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tie Affair - No.2

 

The night sky was a crisp nautical blue, clear enough that Mulder could see the tips of both the Empire State Building and the World Trade Center from the chic downtown address of the party.  North, Empire State Building.  South, twin towers.  Mulder loved being sent to New York for this reason – it was easy to pretend he was good with directions.

Scully, annoyed at having paid out of pocket for her last undercover costume – a gown she referred to as the Gold Gremlin from Hell - had convinced the bureau to give them a more substantial budget for this mission.  Mulder wasn’t there but he knew it could not have been an easy conversation.  After all, they had failed the first time.  And if their supervisor knew what they had done _instead_ of pulling off the mission, their asses would really be grass.  He was fairly certain the “we were just making our false identities feel authentic” argument wasn’t going to fly in a government office.  It barely passed muster in his own brain.

Tonight he would be another crooked wealthy socialite, but she would be playing one of the party’s paid escorts.  They had to arrive in two different cars, both of which were taxis rather than limos per Scully’s instructions.  The budget was strictly for the dress.  He wondered what she would be wearing this time.  He wondered if the events of their last mission had ensured he’d be wondering what she was wearing for the rest of his life.  

He skipped down the steps to the hidden entrance, both unnerved and emboldened by the unfamiliar click on concrete.  They were maybe the first pair of real dress shoes he’d owned since college, maybe even high school.  He followed a bouncer down concrete winding halls until, finally, he was ushered into a room lit like a bordello, pulsing with sex and cocktails. There was a high stakes card game taking place and a goddamned white tiger mulling around a cage at the center of the room.  Well, it didn’t get any more Bond than unnecessary exotic animals. 

The guests were similar to those at the mansion.  Slick characters in tuxedoes they pulled out of a closet that was probably filled with nothing but other tuxedoes.  It was their whole livelihood, going to these events and mingling around with their secretive pocket squares and greased palms.  The women all had hair like Veronica Lake and low cut dresses.  He and Scully had since found out they were mostly prostitutes, hired to keep the male clientele entertained.  Scully was sure she would be able to get closer to the men this way, get them to talk to her.   

Well, now he was looking at her.  And he was pretty sure she’d be inspiring something other than talking.   

He took refuge in the hazy light and general leeriness of the room, openly taking her in slowly.  So much for understated.  Her hair was waved in solid pieces, just like the other women, and the dress was strapless and red.  A matching red mouth pouted above her aggressively squeezed bustline.  She was wearing black gloves that came up past her elbow.  Maybe they were going to be used to wipe up the drool that would inevitably follow her around. 

She caught his eye momentarily and acknowledged him with the nod of an eyelash.  She could practically speak Morse code with her eyelashes.  She had insisted she could handle herself, but Mulder had made her promise to maintain eye contact.  Especially when she refused to carry a gun. 

“It’ll be too obvious in the dress,” she’d said. 

“Put it up on your thigh like last time.” 

She cocked her head in that “Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do” way that gave him a stomachache.

“Depends how far I have to take it,” she said without the slightest hint of humor.  He gawked at her and she clucked her tongue.  “I’m not going to sleep with them.  I’m just saying I might have to show a little leg, let them put a hand on my knee, you know, stuff like that.” 

He tried not to think about the _stuff like that._   

Mulder could tell by the way her current suitor was hanging like a crescent moon over a cypress tree that his intentions were currently way past hand on a knee.  Scully turned to give the bozo her full attention as he fingered a tendril of her hair. 

If there was any silver lining to losing the X-Files and being placed on pointless undercover errands, it was right here.  Scully in a floor length red dress that clung like foil to a chocolate bar.

There were people Mulder was supposed to be talking to as well.  He only realized he was still staring because she checked him twice more, finally excusing herself to the bar.  Mulder watched the suitor’s eyes follow her, trace the outline of her body down to her toes, which were… sparkling?  Were those shoes covered in glitter?  Mulder grinned.  She could accuse him of going overboard with the Bond stuff all she wanted.  He wasn’t the one wearing sparkly shoes. 

He waited for her to order drinks and then joined her. 

“He knows our guy. I’m getting information,” she muttered. 

“I think you’re going to be getting more than that in a few minutes,” he said.

“Stop watching.  I’ll put the brakes on when necessary.”

“How do you expect to do that?  You don’t have a gun and he’s twice your size.  You gonna pull some jujitsu moves in that dress?”

“It can’t come out of the blue.  Privacy with an escort has to be paid for ahead of time,” she explained, nodding toward a row of curtained chestnut shaped inlets along the wall.

“Martini.  Shaken, not stirred,” he said to the bartender over Scully’s supressed groan.  “Paid to whom?  Who arranges it?” he asked, ignoring her negativity.

“That guy,” she said, nodding in the direction of a guy with a ponytail and a mustache.  A bolero would not have been out of place on him.   

She looked up suspiciously at Mulder,  her hair framing the sharp upside down triangle of her jawline.   

“Are those fake eyelashes?” 

“Do you really think I would glue something to my eyelid?” she asked. 

The brightness of the dress deepened the color of her hair like a morning sky pushed up against the ocean, casting shadows in each swell.   _Maintain eye contact._

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Which Bond girl are you supposed to be tonight, Jessica Rabbit?”

“Fuck you, Mulder,” she whispered, turning and heading back to her slimeball with two highballs encircled in her gloves.  Well, what was he going to say, “I’m looking at you because you are obnoxiously sexy in this dress?”  They had gotten carried away with the flirting last time.  If they didn’t make any progress tonight, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed by some fucking art thief who’s blown their cover.  Their new supervisor would off them herself. 

Mulder studied Scully as the man’s whispering escalated to neck kissing.  For such a small person, her neck went on forever... and ever...  He waited for eye contact, some clue that she wanted his rescuing, though he knew with certainty she would not give it.  She flicked her eyelashes at him.   _Stay there.  Don’t you dare._   

He felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench.   _Just tell me to come._  But she closed her eyes, powering down the communication system altogether.  The asshole was now running one thickly tanned hand down her arm, rippling the glove down to her wrist. Mulder began to weave through the microcrowds of people until he finally found the ponytail pimp. 

The next thing he knew, he was inside one of the little caves with a slightly miffed Scully and a lot less cash in his pocket.  There was a tiny table with a candle, wide, heavily pillowed bench seating in a semi-circle against the curved wall.  They waited until the velvet purple curtain had been pulled and tied, privacy ensured. 

“I was fine,” she hissed, spinning on him.  “He was filling in a lot of blanks.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” he said, rolling his eyes and poufing some pillows before he sat.  “You’re welcome.”  His shoes were starting to squeeze his toes.  Did these kinds of shoes ever break in?  He glanced at her feet. 

“How much were the sparkly shoes?” he asked. 

“How much was _I_?” 

“The whole budget.”   

She smacked him in the jacket.  “Goddamit, Mulder.” 

“Better make it worth my while,” he said, chuckling.   

“It’s not funny,” she growled.  But to his great surprise, she shifted over and began to position herself on his left knee like he was Santa Claus. 

“I was just kidding,” he said.  She sighed at his apparent stupidity.

“If they pull back the curtain, we have to look at least somewhat… you know.”

She put one arm around his neck and heaved another sigh, though this one seemed less committed.  Her cleavage bubbled in temptation below his chin.   He tugged at the satiny tips of her fingers resting on his shoulder.

“What’s with the gloves?”

“I just thought it would be a good idea to wear… layers of some kind.  In case I had to buy time.”  He had no idea what she was talking about.  To demonstrate, she held out her other hand across his chest, as if accepting a dance.   

“Pull,” she said.  He pulled at the tip of the glove and she slid her arm out very slowly, _maintaining eye contact_.   

“See?  Now it seems like I’m seducing you but I haven’t done anything more than show you an arm.”

“Yeah.  I get it,” he said quietly, a stubborn hard-on forming mere inches from her thigh.   She dropped her voice as if to match his volume.

“Unzip,” she said.  He looked at her in stunned appreciation and then reached for his fly.

“Not you.  Me,” she snapped.  “The dress.  Just in case someone comes.  Don’t worry, it’ll stay up in the front.”  He reached for the tiny buried zipper pull and began to move it toward her tailbone.

“Slower,” she said in a voice so husky he wanted to say fuck the zipper altogether.  “Or the material will catch.”  He obeyed, drawing it painfully slowly down her spine. Her right knee came through the slit in the dress as she cradled herself around his torso, straddling him against the pillows, her body weight maintaining a critical few inches distance from his crotch.  

The back of the dress hung open in a V, but the front, as promised, stayed upright, though it separated from her body, drifting offshore.  It was hard to tell whether she was still angry or not.  He wondered if she would pull the rug out from under him any minute, some sort of punishment for going against her wishes.  But her bare back was right there, right beside his fingers, and he couldn’t help but trace it.  She stiffened like a cat, blurring the line between offense and a plea for more.

“How long do we have to stay here like this?” he asked.  “It could get kind of excruciating.”

“How long did you pay for?”

“The rest of the night.” Her expression was fairly unreadable, or maybe it was just that he was too smitten with it at the moment to be logical.  He began stammering in his own defense.  “I wasn’t jealous, I was just looking out for you,” he added, noting the slight smugness to her quarter-mouth smile.

The still-gloved fingers fanned out against his neck.  The bare one picked up his hand and placed it on her knee.  “If you don’t let me give you what you paid for, my boss might find out. 

He watched as her lips tracked forward in slow motion, waiting to close his eyes until the absolute last moment, when she wound the momentum with a flick of her tongue.  He slid his hands up the dress, pulling her toward him and pressing the warm relief of her body into his erection.

She was wearing underwear this time.  And stockings that came up to her thighs.  And garters. She had really been counting on that budget, huh? 

“Like I said, in case I had to buy time,” she said, reading his mind as he traced it all under his fingers.

“Is that what you’re doing now?” he asked cautiously.

“No way for you to know, is there?”  She ran her hands inside his jacket, shifted it off his shoulders and down his arms.

“Careful, the gun’s in the shoulder holster.”

“That looks like a woman’s gun,” she said, eyes sparkling.  He squinted.  Holy shit, she was quoting a Bond movie for him.  “Do you know a lot about guns, Mr. Bond?”

“No, but I know a bit about women.”

And then she was biting his lip.  There were his pants around his ankles.  There was a satin glove around his hard-on.  There was the rustle of rayon.  There was her waist held up in worship in his hands. There was her nipple in his mouth.  And there, he was inside her – _oh God, he was inside her._  

She rode him smoothly to the tempo of the pretentious world music thumping through the concrete.  As himself, the moment was approaching when he would have apologetically issued a warning that he wouldn’t be able to wait, a promise not to leave her hanging afterward.  But that wasn’t very James Bond.

He placed her hand between her legs and tried not to watch as she touched herself.  It worked – her body opened and she rolled closer to him, replacing the pressure of her fingertips with his body.  He wondered how the crisp double seam of his shirt felt under that raw sensitive ripple of skin.

“Mulder…” she whispered. His cock twitched at the sound of his name dripping off her tongue.

“What?”

“We’re not supposed to be doing this…”

“I know, but it’s… part of the cover...” he said. He would have told her it was part of the fucking rosary if she needed to hear it.

“No, I mean… I lied… I’m not supposed to have sex with any of the guests.”  

He groaned inadvertently, barely comprehending as he squeezed her hips and dragged her against him, importuning her silently to come.  She panted the threat quickly into his ear. “There’s a bouncer standing right outside this cave.  All I have to do is raise my voice.”

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“Yes…” she breathed with a bit of glee, as if she were winning, as if he might consider himself a loser with her cheekbone dug into his face, his hand wrapped around the naked taper of her waist beneath a dress.  He gripped her by the bottom of her thighs and stood up, fucking her swaggering sarcasm into a shocked little croak.  Her bare back slid under his hand as she sank down onto him.  He pressed his face to her ear.

“Then you better not raise your voice.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
